Claye Kilnmyr
Name: Claye Kilnmyr Gender/Race: Female Human Titles: Guild Machinist 1st Class (Active), Rogue Battle Mage, Scion of the Kilnmyr family Age: 25 Affiliations (Positive): Machinist’s Guild (Active), Kilnmyr family (?), Some Foriegn entities of interest Affiliations (Negative): Most government and criminal organizations outside of Taelarys, Many Noble Houses Description: Claye stands shorter than most. It is unknown why, since almost no members of her family were below average height, and she’s a bit touchy about it. That said, it’s worked wonders in getting people to underestimate her in a pinch. Claye has short, brown hair and dark blue eyes, and a set of features that are highly disarming – she’s been described as cute before, can easily pass for a few years younger than she actually is, and she’s willing to use that to her advantage. For the most part, Claye is usually found wearing fairly comfortable and functional clothing – she works with a lot of combustible objects and substances, so she rarely wears anything with a skirt. Her typical ensemble, with gear, includes a tool belt, a tan poet shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a dark headband, brown trousers, dark brown boots, a set of heavy black working gloves that go more than halfway to her elbows, a black apron, and a pair of goggles pushed up over her headband. She also, whenever she’s feeling guilty or stressed, can be seen with a stout pipe in her mouth – the last thing she has to remind her of her father. She does keep a spare set of equipment around. The gloves and apron get exchanged for heavy black bracers over fingerless gloves that go back almost as far as the other pair, and the looping half-cloak that the battle mages of House Kilnmyr once wore. She has a set of weaponry that takes the place of those tools, too… History: NOW... Four. That’s how many noble houses remain with the Gift. How many control the magical power wielded by those with a strong connection to the Founder. Out of hundreds of noble houses, only four remain with the Gift. House Kilnmyr is not among them. In fact, House Kilnmyr isn’t really a House anymore. So it is with some consternation that Julian “Potts” Bellsmith watched Claye light the furnace by pointing her hand at it and muttering. His brow furrowed with worry. “You can…?” “Yup.” Claye just stood there, silently, bluish smoke curling up from the pipe. She didn’t offer anything else. “Isn’t that… illegal?” Potts fidgeted nervously. He was no expert, but everyone knew that magic was regulated. He was relatively new to the Machinist’s guild, and the last thing he wanted was trouble. He especially did not want A Big Scene. That was how Machinists ended up on the streets, after all. On the other hand, it was way too late to back out of this venture without losing his livelihood. “Sorta.” Again, she doesn’t elaborate. He saw the corner of her mouth twitch, though, with the hint of a smile that quickly gets crushed. “Oh… yay?” He frowned, and stared into the fire for a second. She’d been more animated yesterday, when they were doing the final setup for the shop. “You seem a bit out of sorts today.” “It’s an anniversary.” Claye responded, in a tone of voice that said, “Don’t ask.” “I see.” He didn’t, but he figured that inquiring further would be a good way to start A Big Scene – with a sorceress, no less. “Well, if the equipment is all working, then we can open the doors!” He fired up the gas lamps that illuminate the sign on the outside of the shop, pouring more enthusiasm into his voice than he actually felt. “Claye-Potts Machinery is officially open for business!” He got no response from Claye. She was still staring into the fire. **** THEN... One year ago The tavern had only two occupants. The tavern owner was dead, half the patrons were dead, most of the furniture was broken, there were guardsmen and mercenaries mixed in with the bodies, and portions of the city were on fire. It was, all in all, an unmitigated disaster zone. The two tavern occupants were the only ones who remained in this part of town. It had been one of those days. Claye took a long pull from her mug before looking across the table at her companion. She opened her mouth, then closed it, took another long drink, and tried again. “How is it that a commoner native to Taelarys can do magic? Well, I’m not *quite* a commoner. There once was a time when *every* house had the Gift, long ago. One by one, Houses split and deviated from those roots. I’m not one for saying that they should have gone crazy “keeping the bloodline pure” – in fact, if they had, I might have ended up marrying one of my cousins or something.” She shuddered. “But over time, the gift died out in some places, was weirdly strengthened in others – the Founder’s blood wasn’t the only source of magic, you know. And sometimes, a house just kinda got exterminated. Some were destroyed for political gain, others for treason, and some for something so far beyond treason that it would be legal to kill them again, if they reappeared. The rest got absorbed into the Big Four.” She gave her conversation partner a humorless grin. “I’ll let you guess which group my family ended up in.” Seeing the skeptical look sent her way, she leaned back. “Oh, no one wakes up one day and says ‘I’m going to get my family annihilated by infuriating an entire nation. How should I do that?’ Honestly, you should know that the only way to do that is by sticking to your principles past the point of common sense. That’s how the mighty Kilnmyrs went down in flames. I know the story pretty well – unlike my brothers, I paid attention to grandpa at family gatherings. But, you’re not really interested in ancient history, are you?” She blinked at the response she got. “You really are. Huh. Well, alright. How did this go again…?” She took a deep breath. “Back in that time, when most of the nobles were still closely tied to the Founder, when Taelar was a good bit stronger than it is now – in terms of firepower, not landmass – tensions began to rise between it and what would be the latest of many, many conquests. Taelar had something that the other nation didn’t, though – a *lot* of magical ability among its ranks. And when you have that much magic, you can cheat on your technology. Designs that are purely theoretical can become reality in ways that would boggle the minds of Machinists today. So in addition to the raw magic available to Taelar’s armies, they had equipment that was every bit as spectacular.” “Still, equipment is equipment, and you have to build, store, and maintain it. This was done in a secret location – secret enough that of the Empire’s many enemies, none of them ever found it. Think about that for a minute. Thousands of spies and wizards across hundreds of years were unable to find the Empire’s armory. That was partly because the forces involved caused severe magical disruptions right outside the armory, but mostly because the armory itself was in another dimension.” She let that sink in. “That’s right. No one could find it because it wasn’t on the map – any map. You could either get there or you couldn’t. And believe me when I say that the place was dangerous. The power involved could bend and break spells in new ways, and could even twist light itself, sending impossible shadows through the place. That, coupled with the fact that no one could find it earned it a cheerful name: The Dark Armory.” “You may be wondering what this has to do with me and magic. Well… the Kilnmyrs were the ones running the armory. That’s right. They had the keys, the information, the designs, everything. Gyus and Gea Kilnmyr themselves were mages and machinists, and much respected at that.” She sighed. “But there’s a catch to running and supplying the most powerful armory in the world – if the army that uses it is always the aggressor and you have a conscience, that is. It starts to eat at you. More than one civilization had been crushed under the power of the mages and the Dark Armory, and so this time, Gyus and Gea spoke out against the impending assault. Defied the Emperor, the houses… everyone. The Emperor responded with his own ultimatum – it basically amounted to ‘shut up and get back to work.’” “So they did. They got to work. And when the mages attempted to reach the Dark Armory the next day, they found it sealed – completely sealed. The most powerful weapons and devices in the world, all locked out of reach. The consequences were… severe.” She snorted, and took a short sip from her mug, nursing it now. “You may wonder why they didn’t torture the means to open it out of my ancestors. Well, they tried, but Gyus and Gea did some good work – both as mages and as machinists. They managed to set it up in such a way that they couldn’t unlock it again – but another of the Kilnmyrs could. In theory. The processes and magic were never explained to me, and it’s never been tested because that was the beginning of the end for the Kilnmyr family. They lost their political power, and then their magical power.” She paused while her companion asked a question. “Ha! No. You can’t'' un-mage'' someone. They lost their magical power because everyone in the bloodline with any talent was killed. And so the family entered a rapid decline. Occasionally someone could be born who had the gift spontaneously, when neither the father nor mother was a mage, but these, too, tended to die under ‘mysterious circumstances.’ Eventually, non-mages became targets too. We lost everything, and the family went into hiding. I was raised by my grandfather – only saw my parents and siblings occasionally, before they died too. He taught me what he could, and then he disappeared. I’ve been trailing him ever since, learning as I go, until I got here." An odd hitch entered her voice. "The last trace of him is currently burning on the other side of the city, and there’s nothing I can do about it.” She looked at her companion bleakly. “I’m the last of my line, and it probably won’t be too long before someone ‘mysterious circumstances’ me to death. The Kilnmyrs are all gone, except for our most ancient works. If you ever see a Taelarys court blade – one of the really old enchanted ones – look at the inscription, and you’ll see the family motto. ‘Live a life worth dying for.’” Claye got up from the stool she’d been sitting on, and stretched, swaying slightly with the effect of the alcohol. She pulled out a small pipe and lit it, taking a long drag. “A task at which I have utterly failed so far. The upshot of it all is that I don’t even care about the Dark Armory. The only ones who do are the occasional creepy guy who tries to trick or con or convince me to give up secrets that I don’t actually have. Sometimes they turn violent when they realize that I don’t know anything about the Armory – you sure saw that tonight, didn’t you? All I care about is finding my grandfather, but I’ve been looking for six years. He’s probably dead by now, and so is the trail.” She takes another puff. “So I’m going back to Taelarys, and I’m going to start over. Not the search – my life. All of it. I’ve learned enough to qualify for the Machinist Guild, and I’m so sick of going up against the system and getting my butt kicked.” She paused on her way to the door. “Good grief, but I’m a talkative drunk. Still, after what you did for me today I figured you’d earned a straight answer. I don’t usually say this, but thanks. And goodbye.” With that, Claye pushed the door open, and her companion watched her walk out into the darkness. **** NOW... Claye dimly became aware of something poking her in the ribs. She blinked and looked to her left – Potts was jabbing her gently with the fire tongs, the nervous look on his face suggesting that she might explode at any moment. “What?” He stopped immediately. “You’ve been looking at the fire for twenty minutes. I thought you’d had a stroke or something.” She finally smirked. “Nah. Sorry for zoning out like that. I take it the world isn’t beating a path to our door?” “Well, no, but we just opened. You can’t exp-“ He was cut off when the door opened. Two armed men walked in. They examined the room, and then looked at Claye. One of them already had his weapon out - a compact crossbow, and a well made one from the look of things. “Are you Claye Kilnmyr?” “So much for Guild Security.” Claye grinned again, an expression that did nothing to reassure Potts as he sought available cover. What have I gotten myself into? He thought to himself. In keeping with the day’s theme, no one answered his question – but deep in his heart, he knew that he was about to become part of A Big Scene. General Background: For the past year, Claye Kilnmyr has been a diligent worker in the Machinist Guild – despite occasional unexplained absences, she’s been a major contributor for several large projects, and is responsible for several recent innovations. The Guild and its backers – the ones who matter – are… aware of her lineage, but are prepared to take the political risk for the functional gain, but the balance is a precarious one. Not every Family remembers the Kilnmyrs with disdain, though, and there’s no longer a great deal of profit in hunting them unless the hunter feels – as very few do these days – that the secrets of the Dark Armory might still be disinterred. But that’s just the local situation. Prior to that, Claye spent six or seven years hell-bent on pursuing her Grandfather, who seemed to have left a trail of enigmas and chaos across several nations, which was tricky in some places, and in others obvious. This managed to teach her a number of harsh lessons, and today’s Claye is bitter and jaded beyond her years because of it. Not that she gained nothing from her travels. Claye speaks several languages, is a 1st Class Machinst, knows enough about Battle Magic to hold her own in combat, and has come by an impressive set of tools and weapons – a miniature Dark Armory of her own. She picked up a set of nicknames as well, granted to her with a mixture of derision and respect. In different parts of the continent, she’s known as Claye the Elusive, Claye the Seeker, Claye the Unbalanced, Claye the Pyre, Matchmaker Claye, Red Hot Claye, The Claye Kiln, and one small child in eastern Lodaria dubbed her the ‘Burninator’ after an adventure that she’ll only recount if severely inebriated. This trail ended a year ago, in a mid-sized city that used to be known as Dracith. Exhausted, lost, and tired of fighting criminal and government organizations, as well as the occasional cultist or obsessive conspiracy theorist muttering about how “the secret to the power divine lies within the last of line,” Claye gave up. She resigned herself to being the last of the Kilnmyrs and joined the Machinist’s Guild in Taelarys. After working her way to a 1st Class ranking within the Guild, she opened a Guild-sanctioned shop with a new member as her assistant – Julian “Potts” Bellsmith. Not one to let a play on words slide by, she opened the shop under the name Claye-Potts Machinery. You can find it on the corner of Exentia Street and Worthen Lane, near the middle of the market district, but you might not find Claye there after hours - her duties to the Guild go far beyond tinkering, after all. Potts is a competent Machinist, so he handles routine commissions and repairs. Claye tends to take more advanced or exotic commissions, and also handles ‘unorthodox or dangerous materials acquisition,’ – a phrase that any experienced Guild member knows to mean “finders keepers, sucker.” Ever the traveler and adventurer, Claye still handles very odd jobs for the Guild and the shop. So far, her connections within the guild, as well as a very few remaining old family friends, have kept her safe from official reprisal. So far. Personality: Claye maintains a façade of reasonably good cheer and tends to be attentive to details, both in action and speech. Her speech itself is very informal, much like her attire, and her 'western hills' accent (a product of growing up with her Grandfather outside the city) produces an almost insultingly casual drawl, although she can ‘clean up’ in both appearance and speech if she really has to. Having spent quite a bit of her life on the road and nearly all of it hiding from one authority or another, Claye has some skewed views toward authority figures of all kinds, and thinks very little of the nobility – herself included. Because beneath that façade, Claye considers herself a disappointing end to her family, to say the least. She feels that she’s failed her grandfather, that she missed something important when she couldn’t find him, and on some level hates herself for giving up - the first anniversary of the beginning of her 'new life' hit her pretty hard. In fact, she’s extremely insecure about it, to the point of violence if pushed too far. Going that long on the road alone also gave her some trust issues, which is great for security but bad for her social health. Claye never officially served with the Battle Mage regiments. In fact, she’s officially not a mage. However, she has seen combat before, and knows that she can handle herself. She’s a bit more of an opportunist than her family motto would indicate – especially in combat, where she has no compunction at all against attacking an opponent who happens to be helpless, distracted, or compromised. Since she’s mostly self-taught, her magic tends to follow a fire/explosive theme, and her indiscretion in using it is what earned her all of those charming nicknames. Still, Claye is a Kilnmyr to the core. She’s fascinated by things magical and mechanical, and is competent to design, maintain, build, and operate most machinery. She may be an amateur mage, but she’s a professional Machinist and dedicated smartass. A sense of humor is the best medicine, after all, and is also a convenient way to deflect painful or sensitive questions. There is occasionally still a whisper that Claye knows how to access the Dark Armory, and is spitefully hiding it from The Forces of Justice. In truth, Claye has no idea how to get there. Advantages: Machinist I (Uncommon): Claye is an experienced and professional machinist, capable of building, maintaining, designing, and operating complex tools and devices. She holds a rank of 1st Class in the Machinist's Guild. Profession (Rogue) (Common): '''Claye has acquired numerous extra-legal skills during her travels, some of which are related to activities that have more to do with skulking, intrusion, theft, and backstabbing than any legitimate enterprise. '''Martial Arts I (Uncommon): Claye has expanded on training first shown to her by her grandfather - old forms designed to aid Battle Mages in combat by keeping them out of harm's way and allowing them to disable enemies quickly when there's no time to perform magic. The weapons associated with it are staves, clubs, and good old fisticuffs. Battle Magic II (Fire) (Uncommon): Claye is a self-taught sorceress. With no real materials to study, her spells don't have a lot of versatility, but they do pack a punch. Claye is capable of shooting an explosive bolt of fire at relatively high speed on demand. Other than lighting fires, it doesn't have a lot of utility - she depends on her tools for that - but it is good for combat. When asked why so many of her nicknames involve fire, she shrugged and responded, "When all you have is a hammer..." Extremely Well Traveled (Common): Claye has been to an absurdly large number of locations, and spent most of her time on the road studying. Before that, the Kilnmyrs were well educated, even at the nadir of their power, and multilingual. She knows more than most young women about cultures and languages beyond those of Taelarys, even to the point of being able to read technical designs or magical tomes written in other languages. She also made a few friends, to compliment the massive pile of enemies that might very well remember 'the little pyro.' Cunning I (Common): Claye is a great Machinist, it's true. But she was an adventurer first, and while it wasn't as glamorous as the title might lead one to believe, she learned a great deal about staying one step ahead of those trying to end her career early, both in and out of combat.